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The Black Hole – The Writer’s Way

My heart is pounding!

I am sitting in this rather large, black, leather chair. It has arms, but it is not an arm-chair. It swivels a bit like a computer desk chair yet it is not really like one of those either. I look around; and I can see flashing computerised systems, screens, gadgets and lots of people running around, dressed in, what looks like, space-age costumes.

My heart is pounding!

“Get rid of it” people are screaming, “Before it’s too late!”

My heart continues to pound!

I run my tongue across my bottom lip. It is dry and cracked. I am dehydrated at my extremities, whilst moisture is poring out in rivulets down the middle of my back and the centre of my front. It is making me feel extremely uncomfortable. I want to rub the sweat away; but I know there are too many people watching who will notice my distress.

“Get rid of it” they scream “Before it’s too late!”

I look out the space craft window to my left. I see myself looking back. I shake my head and blink twice. I look again. This time I see past my reflection and observe stars twinkling back at me. I think that it looks just like it does, from earth.

“Get rid of it” they scream “Before it’s too late!”

My heart continues to pound!

I know that I won’t do it. I have already told them that.

I recall the times I have been here before. There are two of them.

I picture Phil Board, the finance manager of Excel Clothing:

“Get rid of it” Phil shouted “Before it’s too late!”

I see the aged, yellow 1980 style personal computer that he is referring to. Phil, I remember, taught me how to use it in a quick and dirty way. I learned to upload my personal pictures and they remain there because for some reason, it is impossible to import those pictures from this monstrous antiquity to modern-day gadgets. That is why I keep it.

I consider the time when Phil exploded. Excel Clothing was in severe financial difficulties – if I had ditched the computer I could have saved the company and the 240 jobs; including his and possibly my own.

I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t do it.

It is thumping now but not pounding!

Then I recall another time:

“Get rid of it” Deborah Wyatt quietly asserted “Before it’s too late!”

There are emails on my 1980’s yellowing computer that she doesn’t want others to see. But all my memories are uploaded on this computer. Additional pictures of all the people I love, my friends from school, Liz and Chris are on there, and my mum and dad who are dead now. My dog Wilbur and all of the BusinessXchange members I have cared for. Sure; there were emails that incriminated me. It was the best job ever – and I lost it because I wouldn’t or couldn’t get rid of it.

And still I can’t do it won’t do it.

It is still thumping and I feel sick to my stomach!

This is the only piece of myself I had been allowed to take on this outer space exploration that I had been recruited for. It is the only thing that I had from the past. Other than my memories this is all I had left of those I love. No no! I’ll not let it go.

“Get rid of it” they scream “Before it’s too late!”

The black hole looms. It is getting larger and larger and larger.

“Get rid of it” they are screaming “Before it’s too late!”

“Be quiet!” I shout back.

“Reverse thrust”

The noise is intense.  My sight is blurred.  People are rushing about so much in slow motion as the ship is lured into the hole.

Too late – we are gone!


In this exercise from The Writer’s Way, Sara Maitland asks us to describe a dream. Describe it as it is in real time, not as you remembered it. You should not analyse or disseminate the dream just describe it as it is.

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